A Collection of Inuyasha Shorts
by Riomi Subarashii
Summary: A Collection of One Shots, Drabbles and Short stories for the Inuyasha fiction. Updated randomly and challenges are always accepted. RR
1. Sesshoumaru Vs GB

_Topic: D&D/Sesshoumaru  
Warnings: Weirdness x.O  
Word Count: 284_

He looked up to see his brother's mate once again bombard his ward with objects that had yet to become useful. Sesshoumaru only endured her presence for his ward's sake under any other circumstances the strumpet's head would have been mounted on his study wall.

"Press the A button there to enter the action of you wanting the cleric to heal your warrior." he heard the inky haired teen instruct his charge.

_Warrior? Cleric?_ The Western Lord had indeed known these terms contrary to many this human used and he couldn't piece together what his ward would benefit from knowing such things.

"Okay great, now that he's revived select the rapier for your warrior to use on that dark knight," the teen continued.

Sesshoumaru touched the hilt of his death dealing katana and scanned his grounds but found nothing. All he could see was Rin sitting in the grass, her shoulder's hunched forward with one of the girl's objects in hand, her small thumbs squeezing it occasionally. The older female sat next to her, her head bowed close to hers with a look of concentration gripping her features, it matched his wards'.

"Kagome Nee-chan! He's still alive!" worry cloaked the youth's tone.

"Umm.." Kagome bit her bottom lip, "Get the elf to shoot his flaming arrows with the +8 bow."

"What is this nonsense you're teaching Rin?" His voice was stoic bit his mind was in a frenzy, _just what in the seven hells were they doing?_

Without looking up the strumpet replied, "Don't get worked up, we're only playing _Dungeons and Dragons_ on my little brother's old handheld." She waved a hand as if to bat him away. His grip on Toukijin tightened...


	2. In The Night

Pairing: Kanna/Sesshoumaru

Color: Pink

Verb: Crying

Scent: Blood

The milky white moon hung high in the midnight sky and wisps of tainted clouds danced and carried over its bright luminosity. The Western Lord stared up at the solemn orb with a vacant expression but an overflowing mind. The wind disturbed the silvery lengths of his hair and tousled the thick fabric of his clothing yet his thoughts continued to compile.

As of late he chose nights of full moon to allow himself such solitude. Even his toad-like retainer remained scarce and from there it was simple to keep his human ward occupied with other things, specifically sleep.

Though it wasn't things of such that plagued his mind. It was the thick scent of his hanyou enemy with a mingled odor of blood. And passed the whistling wind his sensitive ears heard, but barely, a low whimper and subtle groans. So, now his mind reeled on whether it would be worth his time to see his claimed enemy, or one of his detachments, on the brink of death.

His intimidating amber eyes gave a slight roll as he allowed himself an uncharacteristic indulgence of curiosity getting the best of him...

* * *

Sesshoumaru stared down at her with a surveying disgust. At first sight he recognized her, even passed her mangled form, tattered clothing and strained features. Such a contrast to the spotless white, that always dominated her appearance and the blank almost bland expression, that seemed to stone her face.

Yes, he had seen her before but never knew her name, never wanted her name or needed it. Naraku seemed sufficient enough for the whole lot. They all carried the same scent so he noted them all as one.

She laid there, eyes wide with rigid lines of pink eating away at the quivering white that surrounded the listless onyx of her sight. The white tufts of her hair were tangled and matted with the deep crimson of her life's blood and the briny fluid that poured from retched eyes of a bottomless duct. Not far from her deteriorating form lay a shattered mirror, its shards reflecting the moon's somber glow as ethereal wisps of forgotten souls spilled from each piece.

Sesshoumaru's lip threatened to pull up into a sneer as the sickening scent of death wafted its way towards his sensitive muzzle. The swords at his hip pulsed. One craving the bitter taste of another's demise, the other wishing to aid and feed another with life and its many delights. Neither option intrigued him. Both willed mercy and he was quite content with showing none.

Death would work its own cold claws around her at its own pace. He need not interfere.


End file.
